F Cancer

You’d think after going through a horribly traumatic experience, or living through the worst thing you could imagine, you would then get a pass for the rest of your life. Nothing else really bad would happen. But we all know the universe doesn’t work that way. Some people seemingly sail through life with no real hardship while others seem to have to endure one tragedy after another.

Imagine two children, a boy and a girl, friends from the time they were babies. In daycare and then in elementary school together. Imagine telling the boy, aged 9, that the girl, one of his best friends, has cancer and will spend most of her time in the hospital and will be very sick before she gets better. This is impossible for a child to understand. Hell, it’s still impossible for me to understand. But this boy, Daniel, treated Ariella as if everything was normal (which is what she wanted). He was there for her throughout her entire illness and treatment, visiting her whenever he could, making her cards, making her things to occupy her time, and just being the kind of friend we all would be lucky to have. He did anything for her, from allowing her to put makeup on him (which I wouldn’t reveal here if he hadn’t said it himself at her funeral) to going on big rides with her at Hershey Park even though he was nervous. Daniel was special to Ariella and I know she was special to him. So imagine telling this boy, now 11, who had been with his friend the entire time, that it was time to say goodbye. That she died. Loss is never easy but losing a best friend at just 11 years old? Unfathomable. Daniel was lucky to have the support of his two brothers and his wonderful parents. They are a close family and Daniel thrived with the love of his family surrounding him. And he did what he could to keep Ariella’s legacy alive by being a part of Ari’s Bears. He was going to be okay.

Fast forward a few years and imagine telling this same boy, now in his teens, that his father was now sick, also from cancer. Imagine this teen, who already experienced a significant loss, having to bury his father, the hardest loss a child could have, or so you would think. Because it doesn’t end there. Imagine having to tell this same teen that now his youngest brother Kaleb has cancer. Imagine telling him his brother now has weeks, or days to live. Imagine telling him that his youngest brother , not even 9 years old, has died.

I attended Kaleb’s funeral yesterday and while I have been to several funerals since Ariella died, some of them for children and teens, this one hit me extra hard. For so many reasons. Because this family is special. Because just being around them you could feel the love they have for each other. Because they have already endured so much and the hardest part is now, the days moving forward. Because this family was not in our lives because of cancer, they were friends before cancer affected any of us. Because I care about this family and I know the hurt and heartache they feel. Because they have to survive this without their father, without her husband. Sitting there during the service I was immediately brought back to Ariella’s funeral, staring at that coffin, seething at the unfairness of it all. I couldn’t bring myself to go to the cemetery. I knew I could not handle seeing another child-sized coffin being lowered into the ground. I honestly was not sure I would even be able to attend the funeral. But when a child dies, you show up. I remember everyone who showed up for us. I remember the friends that got off the cruise ship and flew home, the friends that drove hours, the friends that changed their flights to a different destination. And I certainly remember those that didn’t. Funerals are never easy. Funerals for children are excruciating. And you show up.

You’d think having lived through this, still living through this, I would know what to say to the family. But there is absolutely nothing to say to make it okay. There are no wise, profound words to make sense of the senseless. It’s all so trite and meaningless. Someone said to me, how do you survive the unsurvivable? And the only thing I could say is that you just do. You just get up each day and go through the motions and somehow the days pass. I can’t say anything to make it better but I do have some words:

Dear Rachel, Daniel, and Jacob,

While each of our families have lost a child I cannot pretend to understand what you are going through. What I do know is that over the years I have witnessed the love you have for each other and know that ultimately you will be okay. I know it may not feel like it now and that’s okay. It is okay not to be okay. It’s okay to cry and scream and hide from the world. And feel whatever you are feeling. You are not alone in this. This is all so incredibly hard and unfair and simply too much and yet you will survive this. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. You have an incredible support system and I feel comfortable in speaking for David in saying we are both always here for all of you. There are no words. There is no “at least” or silver lining that can make it okay. All I can say is I am here. Always. Daniel, you were so special to Ariella. And Rachel, Daniel is the amazing, generous, and kind young man he is because of you and Brian. I am absolutely devastated that your family is going through this and wish I could make it better. I am skeptical about what happens after death but I like to think that Brian welcomed Kaleb with open arms and that Ariella was waiting in the wings to play games with him and try to get him to pull some pranks with her. I’m sure the 3 of them will be looking out for your family.

Since Ariella was diagnosed with cancer I have lost count of the number of kids and teens I know that have died. I will say that again. I have lost count. One is too many. But so many that I don’t even know? If you were reading my blog in September when I was re-sharing Ariella’s story, you will remember how much that retraumatized me. You will remember the toll it took on me emotionally and physically. I was anxious and stressed and tired and simply, spent. And I said I was taking a break from advocacy. But the thing is, once you are in the childhood cancer world there is no escaping it. I will forever be entrenched in it and in everything that goes along with it. I feel every new diagnosis, every relapse, every loss. I have gotten to know so many kids and teens whose stories I follow, who I care about and I can’t just close my eyes or ignore it or pretend it isn’t happening. But how many times can a person’s heart be shattered before it can no longer be put back together?